


my brother has a lovely girl

by Kells



Series: gifts, requests, and other little bits [15]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Steve Rogers, Love Triangles, Tasha's shark-wrangling fantasies, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kells/pseuds/Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Linus Larrabee: How do you say my brother has a lovely girl?<br/>Sabrina Fairchild: Mon frère a une gentille petite amie.<br/>Linus Larrabee: And how do you say I wish I were my brother?</p><p>in which Bucky loves Steph, Steph loves Tony, and Tasha deals with the fall-out. again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a contemporary, no-powers kind of AU which is one-part Sabrina (1954 movie quoted in the summary), one-part entrenched love triangle and two-parts something else entirely that I just wanted to try. It starts off a bit grim (the movie also starts with a thwarted suicide attempt) but it will get better pretty quick!

_The last soiree of the season is in full swing by the time Bucky bursts out of the study at a run. His best friend and near-constant companion whips around as he streaks past._

_“James! What’s-”_

_He shakes his head, not sure he could speak even if there were time. Tasha falls into step as though she spends every summer evening racing across a manicured lawn in stiletto heels, keeping up so effectively that Bucky feels her horrified gasp, just inches behind him, in the second before he throws himself at the one car still outside the family garage._

_“Stephanie!”_

_It would look like she’d just dozed off if not for the fact that the engine’s still running. Bucky wrenches viciously at the nearest door, but of course if she’s put enough thought into this to write that bloody letter she’s also thought to lock the doors. He takes a half-step back, sparing a glance over his shoulder to make sure Tasha will be out of harm’s way, and then smashes the window without another thought. “Steph, for god’s sake-“_

_Between the two of them they get her well out of the way, but she’s already so pale- even for her- and too still for any living thing. Choking on a breath which could too easily turn into a sob, Bucky catches his mother’s favourite student carefully to his chest. “Please, sweetheart.”_

_Tasha’s violent exhalation of relief covers Bucky’s own gasp as Stephanie raises one trembling hand to clutch at his jacket._

_“You came,” she whispers, smiling faintly. Bucky kisses her cheek like he can't help himself._

_“Of course I came.”_

_Thank God they got there in time- thank god he had that one last call to take, and thank god Hank took so long to answer that Bucky had time to notice the single sheet of paper fluttering atop the desk his brother never uses. Stephanie opens her eyes a crack before nuzzling into his jacket with a contented kind of murmur._

_“You do care,” she whispers, and Bucky has no choice but to gather her into his arms with a quiet growl of indignation._

_“Stupid girl, of course I-“_

_Her lips brush his collar in a clumsy, grateful kiss. The fairy-lights Maria Stark has spent weeks curating sparkle in the fading twilight._

_“I knew you’d come, Tony.”_

_Tasha swears quietly as Bucky staggers carefully to his feet._

_“Hush,” he whispers, meaning both his girls. He tries not to react to the persistent thought that it shouldn’t be so easy to lift an eighteen-year-old into his arms. “You’re gonna be just fine, Stephanie.”_

_He’d been pretty sure she was out for the count, but Steph leans into his chest just a little more._

_“Thanks,” she breathes, still talking to his brother. “Love you.”_

_“I know,” Bucky assures her, and it's hardly a lie- everyone on Long Island knows that except perhaps Tony himself. With any luck Stephanie won’t remember any of this, anyway, and they’ll take the next step as it comes. “I love you too, okay?”_

_That too, is the truth; from Tasha’s expression Bucky gathers that his secret has been slightly better kept._

“James! Wake up, will you?”

He opened his eyes to find Natasha leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder while the other braced both of them against the desk in front of them. Nine years, he thought helplessly- nine _years,_ and he could still feel every shuddering breath that meant he hadn't been too late.

“Hey,” he rasped, scrubbing automatically at his face. Tasha chose not to ask how he’d gone from studying hospital blueprints to crying in his sleep halfway through a perfectly normal working day.

“What can I get you?”

Bucky sighed- it wasn’t like he didn’t know why Steph Rogers was front and centre in his thoughts all of a sudden.

“You’re not going to like this.”

She quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed, but squeezed his shoulder with the determined affection Bucky had only ever known from her.

“I’ll do it regardless if it’ll take that look off your face.”

Bucky caught Natasha’s free hand, hoping to soften the blow.

“I think we should offer her the mural commission.”

He hardly had to say who he meant, but after that too-vivid nightmare he was as eager to remind himself as Natasha that he had put real thought into it. “She knew them both, right, and her work's all kinds of current just now, and you _know_ my mom would have wanted her to be involved.”

“Plus you want to see with your own eyes that she’s doing as well as it sounds like.”

“Yeah,” he had to admit. “That too, I guess.”

Tasha was nodding, but also staring fixedly over Bucky’s shoulder.

“James-“

“I know.”

He tried to give a dry chuckle, but it came out too vulnerable by half. “I know, okay? It’s just-“

He raised his eyes to study the painting already adorning the facing wall. “Who else, Tasha?”

She sighed deeply, but found a smile that looked mostly like she wanted it on her face.

“Who else indeed, with you?”

She was watching his face now, searching his eyes for he didn’t know what sign. “Did you want to speak to her about this yourself?”

She had to know that he’d wanted to speak to her pretty much since the day she’d left, about a year after the night they never talked about. Steph had been in a flood of tears at the thought of leaving Maria –to say nothing of Tony, though he’d already left for college or Bucky wasn’t sure his mother could ever have convinced Steph to take the scholarship she’d won- but as excited as he’d ever seen her about London, and Goldsmith’s, and honest-to-goodness art school like she’d never quite believed could really happen for her. He shook his head, dismissing the thought for the thousandth time in the eight years since he'd first picked up and then put down the phone.

“You can get in touch with Carter again, right?”

Tasha nodded, only a little reluctantly.

“Be careful, all right?”

It’s just business, Tasha.”

“No part of this project is ‘just business’ and you know it.”

“She might not even say yes. She must get twelve better offers every day.”

From everything he’d heard- which was a lot, because Tasha was nothing if not thorough- Steph Rogers was doing very well for herself in London, and could easily get by for a good long time without thinking twice about New York in general or Long Island in particular.

“She’ll say yes,” Tasha declared, confident but not especially pleased. The twist of her mouth was determined, but not quite deadly yet. “If she hurts you I’m going to feed her _and_ your horrible brother to a shark.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

“He has his moments. Do you have a shark that size just hanging around?”

She cuffed the back of his head with the heel of her palm.

“Of course not. I’m going to order one specially.”

At least she was smiling again. “ _After_ dinner, though- you hardly touched your lunch, and I know you never eat breakfast unless someone puts it in your hand before the morning briefing. Someone, obviously, being me.”

Bucky scowled.

“You know you’re VP of this company, right, not my actual life?”

“I do know that,” Tasha agreed patiently. “But I also realise that if I don’t do both jobs you’ll probably die of starvation or neglect, and then the idiot will be my boss, and I’ll have much more trouble convincing _him_ to sign off on my credit card statements when I expense the shark I’m hoping will eat him.”

It made as much sense as Tasha ever did when she was talking about Tony, so Bucky got to his feet, kissed her forehead just patronizingly enough to make her jab him affectionately in the ribs, and let himself be dragged elbow-first out of the office that still felt like his father’s.


	2. Chapter 2

“This was a mistake,” Stephanie muttered, then scowled as she realised she’d said as much out loud. “This _is_ a mistake, and now I’m standing here talking to myself like a-“

“Steph? Is that Stephanie Rogers?”

She hardly had time to turn before she was enveloped in a boisterous embrace.

“Look at you,” Clint Barton cried as he released her, grinning from ear to ear. He gave her a once-over too exaggerated to be at all offensive. “I mean, _look_ at _you.”_

Some of the tension that had been keeping Steph’s posture more rigidly correct than Maria Stark’s coaching had ever managed to make it began to seep away.

“Look at _me_? You’re the one in a vest and tie.”

Her long-time friend glanced down at himself as if to check.

“True,” he decided, still beaming. “I’m still going to apply for a transfer right this second if _that’s_ what London does to you.”

He affected an accent more hopelessly cartoonish than the worst bad impression of Dick van Dyke’s.

“Must be summat in the water, y’know what I mean?”

“Barton. Please never do that again.”

That was a familiar voice too, but far less friendly. Natasha Romanova was as immaculately put together as Steph remembered, but when she had been a teenager the coolness in Natasha’s manner had usually been reserved for Tony.  Clint waggled his eyebrows.

“Or what, you’ll have me exiled? Like to the London office, maybe?”

Natasha never so much as smiled.

“Or Kemerovo, the Outer Hebrides, or the Gobi desert, depending on availability.”

Clint pouted like a child.

“You’re a cold and heartless woman, you know that?”

“Yes. I’m glad we had this talk. Now-”

“What the hell is a Kemerovo in the first place?”

She met his eyes, impassive.

“If you’re late for our 2pm with Xavier I’ll make sure you find out.”

“I don’t think she’s teasing,” Clint grumbled in a stage whisper at least as loud as his usual speaking voice. “Don’t be a stranger. Lunch on me as soon as we’re both free, okay?”

He glanced at Natasha, expression entreating.

“I can have a non-working lunch _one_ time between now and that gala, right?”

He hugged Steph again, threw Natasha an entirely disrespectful mock-salute, and went on his way _still_ grinning to himself.

“Thank God for Clint Barton,” Steph murmured, warmed through by his exuberance. “How’ve you been, Natasha?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

Natasha glanced at her watch. “James will want to see you, if you’d like to come up.”  

Steph nodded, fighting the urge to adjust her scarf, and her tunic, her braid. Not your problem, she reminded herself sharply and in Peggy’s voice. _Not_ your job to be anything but you.

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Natasha’s lips thinned, but she just nodded sedately and waved Steph into the lift ahead of her. Eight years, Steph thought as the floors fell away- eight years, and more change than had seemed conceivable when she’d left.

“He’s really CEO now, huh.”

“Of course.”

Steph nodded- she hadn’t meant to challenge it so much as to express a kind of sympathetic disbelief that anyone but Howard Stark could run his behemoth of a company.

“What’s that like?”

The floors continued to fall away below them.

“His parents would be proud.”  

Stephanie nodded- she hadn’t meant to challenge that either.  

“Is Tony kicking about somewhere too?”

It was almost shocking how casually she got the question out. Natasha seemed to roll her eyes without actually moving a muscle.

“He manages our interests on the West Coast.”

“Right,” Steph murmured. She decided that it must be the change in pressure, or something, making her stomach drop like that. “Does he like it out there?”

Natasha lifted one shoulder in a magnificently apathetic half-shrug, but the lift doors opened with a chime before the atmosphere inside froze over altogether.

Stephanie stepped out first only to pause, taken entirely aback by the sight of Tony’s older brother bent over his father’s desk with his dark hair falling over his eyes and Howard’s vintage fountain pen firmly in his hand. It was one thing to _know_ how much she’d missed- it was another entirely to see the proof of it right there. Bucky had been away for most of Steph’s time as his mother’s pupil, first at school and then- after a row the neighbours had talked about for _years-_ on two full tours in Afghanistan. She remembered him most clearly in the year and a half after that, as a solemn, shorn-headed older boy who seemed to genuinely prefer talking business with his father’s colleagues over dancing with their daughters. His eyes, when he raised them, were the same pale grey Steph remembered, sharp and clear and utterly unlike the warm brown of his brother’s.

“Stephanie,” he said softly, rising to offer her his hand. “It’s good to see you.”  

“Bucky, hi.”

He seemed to stumble, miss a breath. Steph felt her eyes go wide as she realized why. “I’m sorry! Is it ‘James’ now? I can-”

“It’s fine.”

His smile was absolutely gentle, and warmer even than Clint’s. “Really. I just- wasn’t expecting it, I guess.”

Steph nodded- it had been mostly a family thing, after all, and if he didn’t see Tony much now that he was way over in California-

“Right,” Natasha announced suddenly. “I have to get moving before I’m honour-bound to ship myself to Siberia. You’ll text me if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine,” Bucky promised, though Steph had got the distinct feeling she hadn’t been included in that ‘you’. He seemed to take the part about Siberia in his stride. “Did you want me in on the Graymalkin thing, or-”

“No, Barton’s got things well in hand. Take your time- I’ll catch you up after.”

He squeezed her shoulder, casual and intimate at the same time.

“Thank you.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, already straightening her blouse.

“It’s my job, isn’t it?”

“Well, in that case.”

His smile grew positively boyish. It made him look more like Tony, Steph thought, and suddenly very like their dad. “Off with you, then. Go run my company or whatever it is I pay you to do.”

The lift doors shut with the same faintly electronic ‘ding,’ and then they were alone.

“If Clint had said that he’d already be in Kemerovo.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, genially curious, but he didn’t ask. For a long moment, he just stood there, watching her face. Steph tucked her hands into her pockets mostly so she wouldn’t fidget with her scarf.

“Sorry,” he muttered, dropping his eyes at once. “Sorry, it’s just- I really wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Steph couldn’t blame him- his family had given her everything she’d ever had before London, after all, and she’d never so much as sent flowers.

“I went to mass,” she whispered, suddenly anxious to prove that it hadn’t passed her by completely. “I light candles for them sometimes.”

His arm swayed towards hers, but stopped before their fingers would have brushed.

“I still do that, too.”

“Listen-”

“No.”

This time he looked right into her eyes. “Don’t, Steph. They were never anything but proud of you, okay?”

Stephanie frowned, searching his eyes for the censure he must have been able to see in her own.

“All the more, then, right? I should have been here.”

“You’re here now,” Maria’s son reminded her- quietly, like Bucky was still trying to believe it but also like he really thought it could, somehow, be enough.

“I’m here now,” Steph agreed. For the first time since she’d handed Peggy the keys to her studio, it didn’t sound like a prelude to disaster. James smiled when she did, small and shy this time.

“Will you let me take you to lunch, you think? On our way over, I mean.”

In the photographs alone the space was magnificent- a blank canvas like she’d never have known how to ask for. Just thinking about it made Steph's fingers twitch for a brush, or at least a pencil, and just like that she felt like herself again, and like an artist with a project she really believed in.  

“I’d like that,” Stephanie decided. “But after the site walk, okay? I have _such_ plans for that lobby.”

She wondered whether it was the first time she’d ever heard Tony’s brother laugh, and then whether it was fair to take repetition as confirmation that it _was_ the effect of that elevator setting the butterflies in her stomach all aflutter.


	3. Chapter 3

In some ways, the hardest part was watching the inevitable unfold. Of course James was completely smitten- arguably he had been for years already. At least he was eating, Tasha reminded herself sharply when Stephanie turned up with seven thousand calories in cream and carbohydrates because “I love London, you know that, but those guys just don’t _get_ malted milkshakes.” At least he was getting some kind of rest, slipping out between meetings to “see how she’s doing” or letting her drag him off to while away whole afternoons at the Frick or the Met like there was any chance it was the art he’d be looking at. Their routine had already shifted until it was more normal than not to find Stephanie sketching in Howard’s old leather armchair while James worked at the desk- and yet Tasha failed to realise quite how far things had progressed until the day she glanced in on them just as Stephanie reached for a small, framed photograph on the bookshelf next to her chair.

“Look at you all gangly and teenager-y. What’ve you done to make your dad look so smug?”

James’s smile was small and affectionate.

“That’s my first day at Princeton.”

Stephanie tilted her head as if examining the photograph from another angle could clarify its details.

“You’re never old enough for college here.”

He had been seventeen when he started, James reminded her apologetically. Stephanie laughed out loud.  

“Of course you were. And then you finished in a year and two weeks or something, right, and made all those Ivy League overachievers feel like so many failures all in a row?”

Tasha found she approved of the pride in Stephanie’s voice. James admitted that he’d taken a little under three years. Stephanie bit her lip.

“But if you were- then-“

He watched her curiously; she found her voice eventually. “You were just a kid when you went out there.”

James let his gaze drop.

“Not for long.”

Stephanie sighed with him, more visibly shaken than Tasha had known to anticipate. Her fingertips brushed his wrist, but she didn’t go as far as to take his hand.

“Why’d you do it, Bucky?”

Tasha tensed, prepared to announce a call from Hong Kong or a strategy meeting halfway across town, but James answered readily enough.

“You know we’ve had a direct contract with the military basically since World War II, right?”

Stephanie nodded somewhat tentatively. James inclined his head. “In any other sector my dad would have been doing the field tests himself, no question. I guess I just figured if anything it was _more_ important considering people were putting their lives in our hands basically on faith.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Stephanie protested, but didn’t seem to know where to take her objection. There was a moment of quiet, during which they both seemed transfixed by Howard’s fading grin. “No wonder your dad blew his top like that.”

He looked surprised for a moment- certainly at the time he’d had more to think about than how far the news of their falling-out had travelled.

“They were _so_ mad. Dad couldn’t look me in the eye for days- and my mom said she’d never talk to either one of us if he let me go.”

Stephanie laughed softly.

“Your mom never _stopped_ talking about her brave soldier son. Even after we got you back she still went on about you more than Gauguin, even, and you know what she was like about that guy.”

He couldn’t help but smile – not least, Tasha thought, because he couldn’t have missed that ‘we’ any more than she had.

“Thanks for that.”

Something had changed in Stephanie’s expression, not that James could see it.

“It’s just the truth.”

Quite suddenly, she bent to put her arms around his shoulders in a quick, fervent hug. “Thank _God_ you made it home safe.”

The look on James’s face was very nearly an expression of awe, but Stephanie only seemed to sense the weariness that had lingered pretty much since the day he’d lost his parents.

“Let’s get out of here, huh? You look completely shattered.”

He stood at once, already smiling again.

“ _Shattered_ , eh? Do I really, though?”

It was a better effort than Barton’s- Stephanie, at least, was laughing rather than cringing violently.

“As if you’d be such a chav. C’mon, it’s been at least twenty minutes since you were paying any attention to that stuff anyway.”

James offered her his arm like some turn-of-the-century gallant.

“I’ll give you that much. Where’re we going?”  

“Somewhere that does pizza,” Stephanie decided. “But I mean New York pizza, not that stone- baked stuff.”

He made a show of furrowing his brow at her.

“You’re not going to take me to Brooklyn again, are you?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one doing the taking considering you never let me drive.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said you don’t feel right driving on- I quote- _the wrong side of the street_!”

They headed for the elevators still bickering like old friends. Taking stock of everything she hadn’t meant to witness, Tasha realized two things in particular: Stephanie hadn’t said one word about Tony the entire time, and James looked closer to relaxed than he had at any point she could remember since his father’s death.

Of _course_ the next email to stretch her already overtaxed inbox was from Pepper Potts, reporting in a tone that was both grateful and perplexed that Tony had, for _some_ reason, decided he did want to attend the company’s annual Dinner and Dance for the first time in years. He would be in New York by the following weekend at the latest, and Pepper would be grateful for any hints at all as to what kind of gift he ought to bring his brother. Tasha took one deep breath, and then another- then slammed her laptop shut and took herself away to the family home to brood.

James found her in his father’s private study- his private study, now- nursing two fingers of the whisky he never touched and staring blindly down at the letter Tasha was sure they had both memorized some years before. His smile faltered- his voice settled somewhere between wry and apologetic.

“I take it Pepper’s been in touch.”

“I don’t understand,” Natasha confessed after a moment's heavy silence passed. “Are we testing her, or you, or the idiot?”

James shrugged, but couldn’t seem to meet her eyes.

“If she’s been marking time with me hoping he’s going to turn up eventually I figured I should know before I go and do something idiotic like ask her to marry me.”

When his voice cracked, Tasha had no choice but to put down her glass to hug him tight.   

“Stupid bloody martyr.”

Stephanie had been right earlier, she realized: suddenly, it was obvious how many sleepless nights had informed his decision. “Don’t forget there’s always my shark if you don’t like where this is going, all right?”

James cocked his head, curious in spite of himself.

“Have you got one already?”

“Not on site. I’ve got my guy who knows a guy on call, though, so you just say the word and we’ll work out the rest.”

He frowned minutely.

“Why do I feel like other people mean cocaine or crystal meth when they say things like that?”

Tasha squeezed his hand.

“Because you went to school with every worthless, over-funded hedonist east of Chicago?”

There was another momentary pause.

“Yeah, that could be it.”

She kissed his cheek.

“Of course that’s it."

At least he was smiling again, fragile but sincere. They’d picked up the pieces before, Tasha thought defiantly; of course they could do it again if they had to. "Now: get some rest, all right? Unlike those people you have to work tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the few people reading this, in thanks both for reading it and for letting me know that you'd notice if I kept going!

Navigating a crowd of strangers too busy and important to spare ‘the artist’ more than a curious glance, Steph felt more like Cinderella without her fairy godmother than she had since she’d been in her teens. She tugged at her dress, trying not to think about how it compared it to the Van Dyne originals that half the women in the room had on. For a moment she felt utterly alone- then someone called her name, and Steph turned to find the man of the hour waving her over with such open pleasure that she couldn’t help smiling back.

“Bucky, hi.”

“Steph.”

He sounded almost relieved. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Steph found herself laughing, already more relaxed.

“I wasn’t sure _you’d_ come, after all the fuss you made.”

He jerked his head, indicating some combination of the décor and the crowd itself.

“It’s not exactly my scene.”

“I dunno,” Steph murmured, giving him an exaggerated once-over- to tease, obviously, and not because the sight of him in evening wear was enough to stop a girl in her tracks. “You definitely look the part.”

This time, she couldn’t blame the lifts for the way her stomach flipped at the smile, surprised and almost shy, that touched his lips as he glanced down as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing.

“Thanks. Listen, I-”

The double doors burst open. Bucky edged forward like he expected to have to put himself between his guests and some horde of armed intruders. Steph fought the urge to grab his wrist before he got too far away.

“The prodigal Stark returns!”

She felt her stomach drop- she’d spent her most vulnerable years hanging off every syllable uttered in that voice. She’d have known Tony Stark anywhere- that killer grin had hardly changed for all it graced a face much older than she remembered. “Smile for the cameras, will you?”

There were, in fact, dozens of mobiles trained on them already- business moguls and socialites alike seemed to be sitting up straighter at the rare sight of both of Howard’s sons barely an arm’s length apart. Bucky _was_ smiling, but not the way he had been before. His posture was stiff, his eyes uneasy, and the smile on his face was more his father’s than his own. Steph realised abruptly how close she was to taking his hand in some probably-misguided effort at reassurance. She caught herself a moment before their fingers would have brushed and grinned a touch too widely as she elbowed him instead, her voice growing pitchy in its forced exuberance.

“You never said this guy was coming.”

Bucky shrugged, still smiling that strange snake-oil smile.

“Didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

His voice was wrong too- still quiet but harder, somehow, than when it had been the two of them. “Even when Pepper has time to give us a head’s up it can be hard to tell if he’s really gonna show.”

Tony rolled his eyes like the teenager Steph had once idolised.  

“He hides his disappointment so well, doesn’t he?”

He looked her over like it had never occurred to him that Steph might _not_ have got dressed specifically to please him personally. “Like he’s been hiding you, apparently. Where have you been all my life, and how the _hell_ did _James_ get to you first?”

“He didn’t,” Steph told him, smirking mostly to herself. “Your mother did that years ago.”

She kept her expression neutral, focusing on meeting Tony’s curious gaze instead of trying to guess what his brother was thinking. When his eyes widened fractionally, she knew he’d caught on.

“Stephanie?”

He glanced towards Bucky as if he might somehow be more qualified to confirm her identity than Steph herself. “Your artist- she’s _that_ Stephanie Rogers? Is this for real?”

“You can talk to me,” Steph reminded him, poking Tony in the chest with a degree of self-assurance Peggy herself would have found impressive. “How many Steph Rogers does your family know, huh?”

As his brother gaped, Bucky offered Steph a smaller, more believable smile.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

She shook her head automatically.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Actually I do.”

His shoulders lifted in a half-shrug that was also halfway to a sigh. “There are people I should say hi to, right, and I promised Tasha I’d pin Xavier down on a couple things before they see each other next week.”

Tony laughed, not quite kindly.

“I see the hellcat’s still in charge.”

It was obviously meant to be provocative, but Bucky barely reacted.

“God knows how any of us would have lived this long without that girl. I’ll see you later?”

He was still looking at Tony, but it was only when Steph nodded too that Bucky strode off, looking almost like he really wanted to be there. He barely made it seven paces before he was beset by a veritable storm of eager guests.  

“Poor thing,” Steph murmured; Tony snorted.

“Yeah, must be hard being the pride of the House of Stark.”

Steph turned sharply, but her reproach faltered under the force of _Tony Stark’s_ still-boyish grin. “Better him than me, am I right? Have I already said you look incredible?”

“You have, you know.”

Her teenage self would have slapped her soundly for wishing vaguely that his brother would have thought to say anything like that. Bucky had escaped the flurry of socialites, at least, and looked much more at ease chatting quietly with Charles Xavier and his friends. Steph tore her eyes away as the music shifted; Tony held out his hand with a gleam in his eyes.

“Good for me. Shall we?”

There was a time when Steph would have traded everything she owned for such an invitation. She took his hand, grinning already.

 “Why the hell not, right?”

“That’s the spirit.”

He took the lead in swift, practiced steps. They’d tried to make Bucky take lessons too, Steph remembered Maria saying with the smile that accompanied most anecdotes about her sweet boy all the way in Afghanistan, but he’d never shown much in the way of either interest or ability. He was doing well enough now, Steph thought, watching over Tony’s shoulder as Bucky dipped Erik Lehnsherr’s young daughter dramatically, making Wanda squeal with delight as her father’s habitual scowl lessened by degrees at the sight.   

“So,” Tony murmured, inches away. “What’s it like working for Big Brother?”

Steph cocked her head at him, going for playful rather than defensive even as her hand clenched reflexively at his waist.

“Isn’t he your boss too?”

Tony’s grin was conspiring.

“Why d’you think I moved to California?”

She raised an eyebrow, bolder by far than she’d ever imagined she could be with her first real crush.

“For the girls in bikinis, I would have said.”

Tony looked surprised, but not insulted; Steph took the opportunity to stand up for the people who had been so much more welcoming than she had expected. “They do so much good work here.”

“So I’m told.”

She frowned at the skepticism in his voice.

“You should come home more often, see for yourself.”

It had worked for her, after all. Tony’s gaze turned almost predatory as they locked eyes.

“Maybe I will, if you’re planning to stick around.”

Steph was blushing, she was sure. It could have been his hand at the small of her back, the way she’d pictured it some ten years earlier- or the startling realisation that she was much more willing to think about moving back to New York than she’d stopped to consider.  

“I might, you know.”

Tony preened.

“Look, feel free to smack me silly if this is out of line, okay, but I was thinking-“

Steph knew that expression- she’d seen it countless times before, though never directed her way.

“What, you gonna ask me to go up to the house with you?”

He stumbled, tugging her with him; it took them both a moment to find their feet again.

“I wasn’t- I mean, if-“

He took a breath, visibly collecting himself. When he spoke again it was with the same self-assurance as before. “Are you planning on saying yes?”

Steph couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Tony’s grin broadened; Steph decided it would be a shame to leave him hanging.

“If you play your cards right.”

It wasn’t like he’d remember in the morning, anyway- Tony had always talked a big game. He looked genuinely pleased, though.

“Great. Fantastic. Why the hell not, right?”

She had to smile.

“Right.”

To her surprise, he kissed her cheek as he brought them gracefully to a halt.  

“Suddenly three weeks of meetings with the stuffed shirts upstairs seem totally worthwhile. Can I get you some champagne?”

He was gone before Steph could answer, leaving her blinking in surprise at the sheer speed at which things had shifted between them. She was still glancing around, vaguely disoriented, when she caught sight of Bucky knocking back a shot like it was medicated. She made her way over before she had fully realised what she was doing.

“Bucky? You okay?”

“Fine.”

He wasn’t, though. “You havin’ fun with Tony?”

“Sure.”

Steph found herself chuckling again, maybe a touch uneasily. “He’s only gone and asked me to spend the weekend with him. Or I asked him to ask, maybe- I may have jumped the gun a bit.”

“He asked you to go up to the house with him.”

She nodded.

“I couldn’t believe it. When I was a kid I would have _killed_ for- Bucky?”

He had staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on the bar. “What’s wrong?”

Before Steph could react Natasha appeared out of nowhere to pluck the shot glass from his white-knuckled grip.

“Breathe,” she ordered, cupping his jaw with a casual intimacy that made Steph’s stomach hurt. She went on in Russian, her voice far gentler than it had ever been where Steph could hear it, as Bucky closed his eyes and drew a long, painful-sounding breath. “Good lad. Get some rest, all right? I can reschedule the-”

“Don’t. I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Steph caught his hand; he didn’t pull away, but watched her with a detached calm that seemed wholly foreign to the man she’d begun to think she knew. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing to tell, sweetheart.”

She thought there was. He’d been fine earlier, hadn't he?

“What did Lehnsherr say to you?”

“Nothing special.”

He was pulling himself together the way he did for that one last meeting that he knew would go on too long. “I really have to go, Steph. Enjoy your evening, all right?”

For the first time in a long time Steph had no idea what he was thinking. Bucky didn’t wait for her to answer, but turned to meet Natasha’s eyes again. “You’ll come up when you can?”

“Of course.”

They stood side by side in silence, watching him go. Steph frowned, more than a little unsettled by the whole exchange.

“I really don’t think he should-“

“It’s no business of yours what he should or shouldn’t do.”

There was real anger in Natasha’s voice, but something more than that as well- a kind of disappointment, maybe. “I don’t know why I ever-”

She turned abruptly, cutting herself off mid-sentence. “I hope you’re happy.”

Steph stood stunned, not at all sure what she’d done to deserve that. She saw Clint get between Natasha and the doors, his expression shifting swiftly from cautiously joking to genuinely concerned. He met her eyes as Tasha left, but before Steph could gather her wits enough to go over Clint’s face changed. He glanced away as an arm snaked around Steph’s waist.

“Where’d you run off to, huh?”

She took the glass he pressed into her hand mainly because she had no idea what else to do.  

“Tony,” she whispered, turning almost in his arms. The light was right, she thought, and the setting was close enough- but when he smiled and touched his glass to hers her treacherous brain sought grey eyes instead of brown.


End file.
